Never Grown Up
by Queen Bookworm the First
Summary: Bill deals with the aftermath of Fred's death.


**Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition**

Team: Wimbourne Wasps

Position: Beater 2

**Prompt**: Department of Magical Transportation: Write about someone traveling.

**Optional Prompts:**

3\. (object) newspaper

6\. (color) teal

Word Count: 3000 (Google Docs)

**AN**: I changed the war a little to have Charlie stay back in Romania during the Battle of Hogwarts. Ginny is also at Fred's side when he dies. Also, thank you to Hemlockonium for beta'ing!

* * *

"I'll do it."

Molly's lip trembles. Arthur pinches the bridge of his nose and starts to say, "Son, it's all—"

"_I'll_ do it," Bill repeats firmly. He takes in the dark purple shadows beneath Molly's usually bright brown eyes, the lines etched into Arthur's face, and in that moment, he realizes just how _old_ his parents are.

(And suddenly he wishes that he was a little boy again, stuck in the Burrow playing Quidditch and eating treacle tart—no war, no missing hand on the clock—and more than that, he's wishing that they'd just _never grown up_.)

"Bill, dear, we really ought to do it ourselves," says Molly. She swipes a hand across her cheeks, leaving glistening tracks behind. Arthur wraps an arm around her shaking shoulders and murmurs something into her ear. When he looks up, he gives Bill an almost imperceptible nod.

Arthur lifts up an old newspaper. "We're lucky the reporters haven't written anything yet." His eyes snap up. "You'll want to do it carefully. Give him a minute to process it. And…" He draws in a shuddering breath. "And don't _ever_ let him think that he could've stopped it if he were here."

Bill nods. "I'll leave after lunch."

Molly sniffles. "All right, then. I'll get your things together." She tilts her head up, drops a kiss on Arthur's cheek, and wriggles out of his grasp. Bill watches her lift a hand to her eyes as she turns and disappears into the kitchen.

"Where are you going?" asks a sharp voice.

Bill rotates to see Ginny perched on a step. The staircase creaks as she stands up. Before he can open his mouth, Arthur answers for him.

"He's going to see Charlie."

Ginny's jaw tightens. "So you can tell him," she says, her voice eerily quiet. "About Fred."

Bill sucks in a breath. None of them have dared to say _his_ name out loud. It hangs in the air, unattached to a physical form. "Yes."

Ginny walks forward until she's barely a foot away, shoulders squared, chin raised. "I'm coming with you."

"But Harry—"

"Is upstairs and won't talk to anyone." Ginny's eyes blaze, making her look remarkably similar to Molly. "I'm coming."

Bill exchanges an uncertain glance with his father.

"It's up to you, son," says Arthur, clapping a hand on Bill's shoulder. He gives both of his children a small, forced smile and leaves.

"I dunno if Mum'll allow it," Bill mutters, bowing his head.

Ginny snorts. "Doesn't matter. I'm almost of age. And it's not like I'll be of any use around here." Her eyes stray up the stairs to where Harry's door stays closed. "I _need_ to get out."

Bill eyes his sister's clenched fingers. Her knuckles are white, and her petite figure quivers slightly. "Fine," he says.

Ginny exhales, her mouth curving up in a slight smile. "Fine."

* * *

Bill's hands tighten around the handle of his broomstick. He sees Ginny flying by his side; her eyes are closed, head tipped back, red hair whipping around in the wind like a trail of flames.

Ginny had insisted on flying, and even Molly, who usually didn't like flying all that much, had rambled about the therapeutic effects of being on a broomstick. While Bill hadn't been too eager to submit himself to a much longer journey, he appreciates the distraction.

He also appreciates the fact that he won't have to tell Charlie yet.

Bill rolls his shoulders, shifting the knapsack on his back. The sky's bright blue has started to give way to fierce streaks of orange and blush pink. He wets his lips and turns, nodding at Ginny. "Let's find somewhere to stay the night," he yells over the roaring wind.

Ginny bobs her head and presses her chest closer to her broomstick. Bottom lip sucked in between her teeth, she veers down slightly. Bill follows her, eyes roving over the ground for any sign of a village.

"There." Ginny lifts a hand from her broomstick handle and points. Bill catches sight of a small group of buildings, nestled in the firs of the forest. Golden lights speckle the windows. Children whiz around on broomsticks, their yells drifting up in the air in muted tones. Men covered in soot trudge home, their boots kicking up clouds of dust.

Ginny darts down like a falcon, the bristles of her broomstick shuddering in the wind. Bill follows her at a slower speed. His brows raise when she hurtles towards the ground and pulls up just moments before she makes contact. She brings her broomstick to a hover and swings her leg off, tapping her foot impatiently.

Bill meets her gaze as he gets off his broomstick and shoves it into his knapsack. "You've gotten good at flying."

Ginny shrugs, a faint smile playing at her lips. "I've been practicing." She tosses her hair over her shoulder and walks towards the village.

_She's grown up while I was gone,_ Bill realizes with a pang. His sister is no longer the clumsy girl who turned red almost every other minute. She is no longer the girl who pulled on his pant leg and said, with wide eyes, "Can you pway with me, Billy?" She is still fierce, yes, but in a calculated way—not in outbursts, but in cutting words that hit their mark.

Bill follows her into the village, increasing his stride slightly to catch up. He finds Ginny standing outside a small building with a rickety sign that reads _The Sleeping Fox _in glowing purple letters.

The windows are covered in a sheen of dust, the concrete riddled with cracks. A lone flower sprouts by the doorstep, its petals drooping forlornly. _Could be better, could be worse, _Bill thinks. With a small sigh, he pushes open the door.

A bell chimes, and a plump woman with garishly pink lips greets them immediately. She smiles, displaying all of her teeth. "Welcome to _The Sleeping Fox!_" She waves her arms around in a theatrical manner.

Bill surveys the lobby; the woman's grand motions belie the state of the inn—there's a table that looks like it's about to collapse, a couple of coal-covered men clinking mugs that splash golden liquid. His nostrils sting from the cigarette smoke wafting across the lobby. Still, he forces a smile back at the woman. "Thank you. We'll need a room for two. Just for the night."

The woman bobs her head repeatedly, her brown hair bouncing. "That'll be six Sickles."

Bill fishes them out of his pocket and frowns at the dismal amount of coins he has left. _I'm a Weasley,_ he reminds himself. _We make things work. _He hands the Sickles to the woman.

"All right, then. We have a room on the first floor. Two doors to the left," says the woman, handing him a rusted key before she hurries away.

Bill and Ginny trudge up the stairs and make their way down the hallway. The floor creaks with every step. They stop in front of their room, and Bill slides the key in, struggling a little.

Once inside, Ginny sets her knapsack and broom down on one of the beds and plops down on an armchair. She wrinkles her nose at the dust that drifts up.

"Here, let me." Bill pulls out his wand. "_Scourgify."_ The dust from the armchair vanishes. He repeats the charm as he walks around the small room.

"Thanks." Ginny suddenly rises from the chair, grabs her knapsack, and heads into the bathroom, her footsteps soft. The bathroom door swings shut.

Bill sits on the edge of his bed and cradles his head in his hands. His face feels sticky with sweat. Silence blankets the room until, just moments later, he hears a muted sniffle.

Bill freezes, his gaze snapping to the bathroom door.

He hears another sniffle. And another. And another. Until the sniffles turn into soft sobs, and Bill remembers he's the oldest and he should know what to do, but he _doesn't_.

He imagines his mother. The moment she heard anyone in her family crying, she would be bustling towards them with a handful of tissues in her hand and a cannon full of comforting words ready to be launched. And his father would do nothing but offering his companionship and a hug if needed.

So Bill grabs a couple of tissues and heads toward the bathroom. He winces when one of his steps causes a particularly loud creak. The quiet sobs cease immediately.

Bill stands in front of the bathroom door, fingers wrapped around the doorknob. _I should knock_, he reminds himself. He taps his knuckles against the door. "Ginny? Can I come in?"

Silence drags on for a few seconds before Ginny, with a cracked and soft voice, says, "I'm fine."

Bill snorts. "And I was Voldemort's right hand. Are you decent?"

"Bill, I'm _fine._"

"Are you decent?"

"Yes," comes a mumble.

Bill eyes the doorknob warily before twisting it.

It's locked, as he expected.

He sighs and points his wand at the doorknob, whispering "_Alohomora._" The lock clicks open. "All right, I'm coming in," he says before twisting the doorknob again.

Ginny sits on the tiled floor, her knees pulled up to her chest. Her eyes are red, and tears glisten on her pale cheeks. In one hand, she's holding a pair of scissors; the other is clenched around a teal sweater—_Fred's _sweater. When Bill enters, she ducks her head, her hair sweeping to cover her face.

Bill sits down beside her and leans his head back, closing his eyes. When Ginny remains silent, he drags in another breath and exhales before asking, "What's up with that?" He jerks his chin at the scissors.

Ginny says nothing.

Bill blows out his cheeks. "All right, Gin, I know I'm not good at this whole comforting thing, but I'm not about to watch my sister break down in the bloody bathroom without knowing why."

"You bloody _know_ why," Ginny hisses. She raises her head to glare at him.

Bill sucks in a breath. He can imagine Fred standing over them, mouth inching up into an impish grin as he scoffs, "But I don't bloody know why." He can see Fred laughing as he reaches out to ruffle Ginny's hair. He can _see_ Fred there, but the only two people in the bathroom are a crying girl and her useless brother—and it _doesn't feel right_.

"I know it feels wrong," Bill starts in a low voice, his fingers playing with the hem of Fred's sweater. "I know that it feels wrong that we're going to tell Charlie that his brother's _dead_. I know that we're all just waiting for not just George to come out of his room. But I also know that if Fred were here, he'd be telling you to stop moping over him."

Ginny's face crumples again. Tears start to roll down her cheeks again. Bill gingerly extends his arms, and Ginny all but leaps into them. He rubs his hand over her back the way he's seen his mother do as she sobs into his shirt. The scissors poke at his rib, but he ignores them.

"It's not—" Ginny whispers, "it's not _fair_." She looks up at him, swiping a hand under her puffy red nose. "We were duelling a couple of Death Eaters. One blasted a column, and it fell all over us. Fred was helping me up, and my hair got stuck—my _stupid_ hair—and one moment, he was joking that I should cut it off, and the next, he was _dead_."

Suddenly the scissors make sense.

"It isn't your fault."

"But—"

"It isn't your fault." Bill forces her to sit up, meeting her gaze firmly. "It's that Death Eater's fault. It's Voldemort's fault. But it's not _yours_." He thinks it's slightly ironic that he's sitting here telling one sibling that it's not their fault for being there while he's supposed to tell another that it's not their fault for not being there.

Ginny glances down at the scissors, her eyes uncertain.

"Besides, if you went and cut your hair, that would leave me with the long hair. And we both know what Mum would have to say about _that_." He offers her a weak smile before ruffling her hair.

A small laugh escapes Ginny's lips—the first one he's heard since the Battle of Hogwarts began. She rubs her eyes. "You're good at this, y'know," she murmurs.

Bill furrows his brows.

"This whole comforting thing. And at being an older brother," she adds quickly.

Ginny's small smile warms his heart. "Well, if I couldn't do this, I dunno what I could do." He stands up and offers her a hand. She takes it.

And for the first time since the war ended, Bill finally feels like he did something right.

* * *

The next day, they manage to get a Portkey to Romania—Ginny mutters under her breath that she's only helping him put off telling Charlie, and Bill feels almost guilty.

They stand outside _The Sleeping Fox_, knapsacks slung over their shoulders. Ginny wrinkles her nose at the mangy shoe lying between them. It starts to quiver, and a faint glow surrounds it.

"Ready?" Bill grips the edge of the boot.

Ginny gingerly places a finger next to her brother's. The boot's small tremors escalate into violent shudders.

Bill feels a sharp tug at his navel as the world around him begins to spin. The glowing purple sign of _The Sleeping Fox_ gives way to green pine trees and silver gates. They land in a tumble.

Bill hears the distant roars of dragons as he gets up and wipes dust off himself. He finds a wand pointed at his face.

"What's yer business here?" the man growls.

"We're visiting Charlie Weasley," Ginny says, stepping forward. She lifts her chin and crosses her arms over her chest.

The man's gaze softens, but he still runs them through the standard identification procedures. Once he seems satisfied, he turns and yells at the sentries by the gate, "Oy! Get Weasley!" When he faces them again, he extends a hand. Bill shakes it. The man's fingers squeeze around his tightly. "Yer brother's a good lad. Helped us with the whole refugee crisis."

Ginny smiles, her eyes gleaming with pride. "Of course he did."

Moments later, he sees one of the sentries returning, a red-haired man at his side. Bill swallows nervously as Charlie approaches.

Charlie's face breaks out into a grin at the sight of them. The gate swings open and Charlie rushes forward, grabbing Ginny and wrapping her in a tight hug. When he lets go, he ruffles her hair, still beaming. He then turns to Bill and embraces him.

"I've missed you all," Charlie whispers as his arms loosen. He steps back and surveys them. "So? We won."

Ginny's smile wavers. "We won."

A faint glimmer of confusion crosses Charlie's face. "I suppose you'll want to wash up. Come on." He leads them through the gates, and Bill's heartbeat quickens.

Charlie stops in front of a small hut and swings the door open, gesturing for them to go in. "It's not much, but it's mine."

Bill understands what he means. As part of a nine-person family—now eight, he painfully reminds himself—it's hard to come by things they can call their own. He ducks his head as he enters the hut.

Ginny's eyes flicker to Bill's, and he perches on the edge of a worn sofa, eyes roving over the living room before landing on Charlie.

"How's everyone?" Charlie asks as he pours steaming tea into a cup.

Bill looks down at his feet. "Good."

"We finally managed to get rid of Voldemort. After all these bloody years, it finally happened. Bet Harry's finally able to rest."

"He's shut himself in his room, actually," Ginny says, a frown tugging at her lips. She slips off her coat, and Bill sucks in a breath. She's wearing Fred's sweater, the teal sleeves rolled up her arms.

Charlie arches a brow. "Stole one of Fred's sweaters, did you?" He hands the tea to Bill. "He won't miss it. Probably has fifteen like it. I guess Mum never got the hint that he had enough teal in his closet."

Bill sips his tea, keeping his eyes trained on the floor. _How do I tell him? How do I tell him that it doesn't matter if he'll miss it or not? _

An owl flaps outside the window with a newspaper gripped in its talons. Charlie snatches it and drops a Knut into the money pouch.

Bill holds his breath as Charlie unfurls the newspaper. Charlie's eyes scan the paper and narrow. "List of the Dead," he reads in a whisper, gripping the newspaper tighter. His gaze snaps up to meet Bill's. His blue eyes blaze.

"When were you going to tell me?" Charlie's voice is threaded with unnerving calmness.

"I—"

"You walk in here, say everyone's _fine_, and drink tea as if Fred isn't _dead._"

"Charlie—" Ginny tries to cut in, but Charlie whirls on her, his clenched fist trembling.

"And _you._ You play on with his little act."

"I didn't know how to tell you." Bill realizes that he's going against his father's advice.

Charlie's face is red, his brows scrunched up. He picks up the newspaper again and hurls it at Bill's feet, and it lands with a soft thud. "Bloody good brother, you are," he whispers before he leaves the hut, slamming the door.

"I'll go after him—"

Bill silences Ginny with a look. "Let him be. It's my fault." He hangs his head, heart hammering against his chest. _I failed. _

He wishes again that Fred were here.

He wishes that they'd all just _never grown up_.

But of course, the world had no care for his wishes. He's stuck in a hut in Romania, heart filled with guilt. He's stuck here with his failure. And no matter how much he wishes, he's stuck knowing that they _did_ grow up and he can't do anything about it.


End file.
